The Sorting of Albus Potter
by Thursday's Dove
Summary: Albus Potter has always wondered why he was sorted into Slytherin. Here is the evolution of his thoughts and events in his life that lead up to him realizing exactly why he's a Slytherin.
1. Why?

**[A/N:** I actually wrote this in an RP in which I play Albus, but I thought I'd post it here! Actually, all these things are edited versions of posts I wrote for Albus in this RP. I'm thinking about making a fic based off him using these posts some day. Whatcha think? Any questions, just ask! Basically all you need to know at this point is: Albus was sorted in Slytherin, he's best friends with Scorpius Malfoy, he _hates_ his brother and his cousin Hugo Weasley, and is at odds with his dad because of how Harry promised him the Sorting Hat would let him choose which house he wanted to be in. This is sorted out in later chapters [no pun intended], so read on! Enjoy! :)

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own Albus Potter or anything Harry Potter-related, in fact, and I don't mean just people related to Harry Potter, but anyone and anything related to the _Harry Potter_ series by JKR. This is all dedicated to her and her series. Thanks, JKR! I hope I've done Albus justice. :) **]**

---

I have been wondering for the longest time—since my first night at Hogwarts, actually—why I was sorted into Slytherin.

Everyone seemed okay with me as a person until that stupid hat contradicted my wishes. James and I got along as decently as brothers can, and nobody referred to me as the black sheep or the family fuck-up. That's my favorite: Family fuck-up. As if I did anything that could be considered fucking up. Do any of them know how much I begged the Sorting Hat to sort me into Gryffindor? No, none of them know that, and none of them ever will, because I changed my mind. All it took for me to change my mind, and theirs, was for me to be sorted into Slytherin. And now I am a stigma in my own family.

And still I wonder why I was put here.

I wonder what makes me different from the rest of them. I wonder why I was born with this incessant phobia of heights, and why it had to be me of all people, me who belongs to a family of Quidditch players. I wonder why I have green eyes, while my brother and sister have brown. I wonder why Hugo was sorted into Ravenclaw when he is the most immature and unintelligent human being I have ever had the displeasure of knowing, much less being related to.

Mostly I wonder when I became different. Was I sorted into Slytherin because I am different, or did I become different after I was sorted into Slytherin? It is a paradox to me, and I do not understand it. I am proud to be different. I do not want to fit in with the rest of them, but mostly because of the things they say to me and how they've alienated me simply because of a decision a hat made. But the Hat only makes those decisions based off what it sees inside of a person. What did it see in me that I still have not seen?

What has it seen in anyone? It seems to me that that hat has been wrong a number of times. Take Peter Pettigrew for example. He was a Gryffindor, and yet he committed the mother of all crimes—betrayal. He is the reason I will never meet my paternal grandparents. Dad says that he learned how Pettigrew never once exhibited any of the traits of the house into which he had been sorted, so why was he sorted there?

And what about Severus Snape, the man who not only donated his name to me, but also killed the man from which I received my first name? He was a Slytherin, but Dad says he was the bravest man he ever knew. Apparently they hated each other, but that didn't stop Dad from naming me after him. He must have been an amazing person for my father to name me after someone he hated. So the hat must have switched up Peter Pettigrew and Severus Snape when it was sorting that day.

Maybe it switched me up with someone, too.


	2. Dear Dad

**[A/N:** In this, there is a professor who makes his students duel for a grade in Defense Against the Dark Arts, but he enjoys it when they actually hurt each other. I think you can see what went on as you read through this. The bit in brackets at the end was actually stricken out of the letter, so when he sent this to his dad, his dad couldn't see what that part said. **]**

_---_

_Dear Dad:_

_Seven is my favorite number._

_It is my favorite because it is an important number, a feared and respected number, a perfect number. Seven is a holy number. There are seven deadly sins and seven heavenly virtues. Seven is an earthly number. There are seven seas and seven natural wonders of the world. Seven is a number of man. You were born in the seventh month and there were seven horcruxes of Tom Riddle, Jr. that you had to destroy before you could become our world's hero._

_Right now, I am only counting six. But I am not worried. The number seven has never let me down, and it will no doubt make its impression in my life yet again._

_Six years ago, you told me that if I asked the Sorting Hat to not put me in Slytherin, it wouldn't. Six years later, I am wearing green robes._

_Five years ago, you told me that Scorpius' dad might not let us be friends anymore. Five years later, we are still best friends, and at times, we are each other's only friend._

_Four years ago, you told me that I would grow out of my fear of heights and that I would be able to play Quidditch for the house I had been sorted into against my will. Four years later, my feet are still firmly planted on the ground and my irrational fear has become a full-blown phobia._

_Three years ago, you told me that I wouldn't have to worry about Lily, that she can take care of herself should anyone give her trouble. Three years later, Theodore Nott is manipulating her, I know he is, and I'm afraid to think of what harm he could bring to her._

_Two years ago, you told me not to worry about what would happen if James and I ever had to duel each other. Two years later, I am hanging several feet off the ground, suspended by a levitation charm, and James is at the other end of the charm._

_One year ago, you told me that I would never have to worry about the Dark Arts in my life. One year later, I am sitting next to my best friend, who is in the hospital wing after having nearly bled to death due to Nott's use of the Sectumsempra curse on him during a duel. Since that happened, I tore apart the library searching for the origins of that curse, so I could possibly learn how Nott came to know if it._

_Rose beat me to it. She wrote a letter to Aunt Hermione, inquiring about it. Aunt Hermione told us everything. About how you used it against Scorpius' dad and almost killed him with it, just as Nott almost killed Scorpius with it. About how the man you named me after created it. About how you got ahold of it and came to use it against Scorpius' dad. Everything._

_Why did you almost kill Scorpius' dad with it? What were you thinking? If you didn't know what the spell did, then why did you use it?_

_I am bewildered. I am horrified. But most of all, I am disappointed in you, Dad. The number seven won't disappoint me, though. I can rely on you for that next year when I can count seven instead of this year's six._

_[I hate you.]_

_Albus_


	3. The Call of the Dark Arts

**[A/N:** Albus becomes curious about the Dark Arts because he, Scorpius, and Rose tried to research the _Sectumsempra_ curse in the library and found nothing, but along the way, Albus was captivated by the call of the Dark Arts he saw in the books. **]**

---

All day he had been anticipating Defense Against the Dark Arts. Throughout the period, Albus had been just about as impatient as he ever got, glancing at the clock every few minutes. Now that the savior of the wizarding world had gone back to his original occupation, his friend's attendance to this class had returned. Scorpius kept raising his eyebrows at Albus, who, the week prior to the previous week, had been perfectly still in this class.

Finally, class was over; Albus lingered in the rapidly-emptying classroom. He told Scorpius that he would be out in a few minutes, and waited for him to leave before he went back to staring determinedly at their Defense teacher.

"Professor," he spoke as the last of his classmates filed out, the door clicking shut behind them.

The Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher narrowed his eyes at his remaining student, the last one he wanted in a room alone with him. "What is it, Potter?" he grumbled.

Unfazed, Albus stepped closer to his desk. "May I have a pass from you to browse the restricted section of the library?" he asked firmly.

Judas Erastas raised a dark, suspicious eyebrow at the youth and sneered. "And what, pray tell, could you possibly need from the restricted section?"

Albus bit back a sarcastic response, and said, "Literatures and histories that aren't in the other books. There are gaps in some places, or sometimes something--a spell or a name-- is hardly mentioned. I want to know more."

"More about what exactly?"

"The Dark Arts."

"That is nothing for the weak-minded to toy with. You and your father both, and your filthy habit of probing around in affairs that you have no business meddling in."

Resisting a scowl and realizing that Erastas was simply not going to give in, Albus about-faced and marched towards the door. From his desk, Erastas added, "By the way, Potter--I quite enjoyed your little display during your duel with your brother. Shattered some crystal in the trophy room, or so Filch tells me."

That struck Albus somewhere deep in his chest. Enraged, he flipped around and whipped out his wand. Before Erastas even realized that Albus had turned around, he was thrown back into one of his bookshelves by an invisible force. A yelp of surprise escaped him. Endless dusty volumes cascaded down upon him from above. He emitted a bellow of rage and threw the books off of himself, and began to get up while simultaneously reaching for his wand.

But Albus was much faster than he was. He sent another spell at him, and this time, Erastas' eyes exploded in a spray of bright red. The older man howled in pain and collapsed onto the pile of books as his world was permanently plunged into darkness, arms lashing out and groping blindly for his wand, or for anything with which he could use to defend himself. He only succeeded in stumbling over the fallen books, knocking over a shelf of Dark Arts devices, leaving them to scatter and shatter on the floor.

Albus muttered two more curses, one right after the other. Erastas' torso ripped open with a sound like shredding cloth to reveal his glistening, fragile vitals within, and a moment later bright blue flames poured from every orifice of his body, slithering across his flesh like hungry, molten snakes.

Albus watched as the hated teacher slumped slowly against the toppled books, gradually ceasing all movement. Blood was splattered everywhere in great crimson sprays and pools. Blue flames rapidly consumed Erastas' body, the blaze feeding into itself until there was nothing left to consume, and then began to feed on the books. A faint smirk lit up Albus' expression as the bookshelf ignited, and then--

"Potter! Are you DEAF?! I said LEAVE!" Erastas roared.

Albus flinched. He felt his blood turn ice cold and then shivered as a line of icy blood slid lazily down his spine and back up. Goosebumps prickled his flesh. Every hair on the back of his neck stood erect.

He knew Erastas was still at his desk, glaring after him. The Slytherin youth had made it a little over halfway to the door and had simply stopped. He was afraid of turning around, afraid he'd see that pile of books with the Defense teacher's gory corpse sprawled on top. Had he really created that scene in his head himself? He shivered again, convulsively.

Albus exited without looking back.


	4. Severus Snape

**[A/N:** Here, Harry had given the Invisibility Cloak to Albus, and Albus used it to get the Prince's book from Harry's study. Ignore the fact that the book was destroyed in the fire in _Deathly Hallows_, because when I wrote this, I hadn't thought about that. **]**

---

My dad gave me the best Christmas present, and he didn't even know he gave it to me. He told me where I could find my present, and, earlier this year, gave me the means to retrieve it.

The Prince's book is the most amazing thing I have ever laid eyes on. It was his Advanced Potions book--Severus Snape's. It contains his genius, but also more than that. Holding it was like holding a very fragile artifact; the book was at least fifty years old when it came into my dad's possession, so by now it must be at least seventy-five years old. Seventy-five years of dust and age, and of secrets tucked between its pages, unappreciated. Just turning a single page felt like a charge of electricity flowing from the book and into me. On every page, on every margin, are pieces of the bravest man my dad ever knew; pieces of the man who saved Scorpius' dad's life; pieces of the man who fooled the Dark Lord himself and sacrificed everything to repent; pieces of the man whose secrets I will never give away.

Scorpius said that he is admirable because neither side hated him. He's right. Neither the Death Eaters nor the Order were his enemies, nor were they his friends. He was neutral, if only for my grandmother. He understood what it feels like to be stuck in the middle, to be caught between two worlds, when you belong to neither side. He understood that the only person you can really trust is yourself, and that everything you do must be done for yourself. He understood that everybody is a potential enemy. He understood that no one will ever truly be interested in knowing the real you. He understood how to conceal it.

I feel like there is so much I could have asked him, so much I could have learned from him, so in a way, gaining knowledge from the pieces of himself that he left behind in a book felt like a great loss. If he hadn't died, he would still be here, teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts in Erastas' place, perhaps. He had genuine knowledge of the Dark Arts, whereas Erastas talks out of his ass about them. He would have given me that pass to the restricted area of the library. He would have shared my appreciation of the awesomeness behind making potions and of the strength and confidence behind the Dark Arts, both of which are items Dad would never appreciate. He would understand _everything_.

Severus Snape was sorted into the wrong house. He gave up everything to correct his past. He was never meant to be a Slytherin, just as Peter Pettigrew was never meant to be a Gyrffindor. He didn't have to play Quidditch or save the world to be a hero.

And I wish that I had more of him than the knowledge and secrets he left behind.


	5. Sectumsempra

**[A/N:** Okay, this took place during mid-year duels, just after Christmas. Albus was really into the Dark Arts at this point, and lost control of himself during a duel and severely injured the boy he was duelling again. The boy he was duelling against was responsible for beating up one of his friends throughout the year. I forgot to mention that the other characters in this story... credit goes to the people who RPed as them.

Also, the bolded items are quotes from how different people reacted to this, and they are, in order: Harry, Scorpius, Rose, Lily, and then Albus himself.**]**

---

He was in a long, narrow, black corridor with countless doors on each side. Muffled voices came from beyond each darkened door. Albus ignored the voices, intent on the single door that stood at the end of the hallway. Of all the doors, it was the only one that was closed upon a lit room; light seeped from between the edges of the door, creating a glowing, yellow rectangle of an outline around it. The yellow rectangle hypnotized him, beckoning him closer, promising to embrace him and make everything better. Even from a distance the light felt warm and compassionate, like it held all of the answers to everything in the world.

_Albus! Al!_

---

**_I thought being in Slytherin would be good for you, Albus. Now _this_ is what you've become?_**

---

No. He had heard them calling to him before, those disembodied voices from beyond the darkened doors trying to distract him from that lit door at the end of the hallway. He would not let them avert him from his goal. It was all that mattered.

He pressed on down the muggy hallway, his feet moving of their own accord to side-step a flash of violet that whistled by his face. His wand arm reacted to another purple stream, his lips muttering in automatic knowledge of the proper defense spell. A sting of pain on his other arm and he cringed, gritting his teeth but not ceasing in his traipsing. Soon he was feeling different degrees of pain throb to life all over his body--some burns, some scratches, some bruises, others the products of darker, more sinister means, injuries that would require more practiced healing.

---

_**I shouldn't be mad at you, should I? You were a great Slytherin back there.**_

---

The journey was weakening him, but by keeping his eyes on that light, he felt as strong as ever. He would reach it, just a bit further.

_Albus..._

This voice coming from the hallway itself, echoing around him, through him, inside of him. It had never let him down before. It had, after all, shown him where the lit door was, and told him how to get into it and that welcoming yellow warmth. It knew everything, everything that mattered.

---

_**No, Scorpius. Al gave him exactly what he deserves. Because he's in charge of handing out punishments now. The almighty prefect, Albus Potter.**_

---

The darkness around him wavered and he shook his head to clear the humming that had settled in his thoughts. _What? Tell me what to do._

_Sectumsempra._

Obediently, he raised his wand at the yellow rectangle and said, "Sectumsempra!" as loudly and earnestly as he could. The ground trembled and he paused, watching as the yellow faded to red and began to pool out from underneath the door. More tremors shocked through his body. The lights flickered on in the hallway and all around him, doors were opening up. The doors became a crowd of people, and the disembodied voices showed their faces. Lily. Rose. Scorpius. Others he knew. Their faces were a collage of expressions, mostly shocked.

---

_**You know, you're still the exact same person you were before you became a Slytherin.**_

---

And at the end of the hallway, the door dissolved into a mass of clothing and ripped flesh and sticky red fluid splattered everywhere. Julius Rowlf lay there, his chest torn open, his life flowing out of him.

---

_**I'm sorry. And I'm not sorry at the same time. Rowlf deserved.. something. How could I have just kept standing around and doing nothing like everyone else? How is not doing anything right?**_


	6. Slytherin!

**[A/N:** This is what happened the day Albus was sorted. The last part is Albus resisting the call of the Dark Arts. His friends had been helping him get away from the Dark Arts after he almost killed Rowlf during their duel. The first part is what JKR wrote in the epilogue; everything else is mine. **]**

"What if I'm in Slytherin?"

The whisper was for his father alone, and Harry knew that only the moment of departure could have forced Albus to reveal how great and sincere that fear was.

"Albus Severus," Harry said quietly, "you were named for two headmasters of Hogwarts. One of them was a Slytherin and he was probably the bravest man I ever knew."

"But _just say_--"

"--then Slytherin House will have gained an excellent student, won't it? It doesn't matter to us, Al. But if it matters to you, you'll be able to choose Gryffindor over Slytherin. The Sorting Hat takes your choice into account."

"Really?"

"It did for me."

---

The last thing Albus saw before the Hat dropped down over his eyes was Rose grinning at him encouragingly. He couldn't bring himself to return the grin, but instead felt gripped by uncertainty and fear. What if his dad had been wrong? All he knew was that he didn't want to be in Slytherin. Nothing good came from Slytherin, Albus knew.

He closed his eyes and mentally repeated _Gryffindor, Gryffindor, Gryffindor!_ before the Hat could even make a suggestion, surely desperately enough for it to grant his wish.

"Gryffindor, eh? Are you sure?" the Hat asked.

Albus was dimly aware of physically nodding his head in response as he silently chanted his desired house. _Gryffindor, Gryffindor, Gryffindor!_

"But I see you elsewhere. Slytherin, perhaps," the Hat suggested. Albus felt his breath catch in his lungs, his father's words of comfort coming back to him seeming so useless now. "Yes, Slytherin. Your father would have done well in Slytherin, too."

_But I want to be in Gryffindor!_ His mind raced. _Please don't put me in Slytherin!_

"Your father had a thirst to prove himself, as well," it mused. "Slytherin could help you with that. Yes, Slytherin will help you on your path to greatness, to proving yourself."

_But--_

"Albus Severus, is it? Mm. Severus Snape was a fine Slytherin. Ambitious, cunning, determined--all traits which you possess." The Hat paused again, thinking. Albus' own thoughts were silent as he listened. "You would do well in Slytherin."

_But Dad was in Gryffindor..._

"But in Slytherin, you could prove yourself better than you ever could if placed in Gryffindor."

Albus paused for only a second to absorb the idea. _Hmm..._

"Hmm? Well, then--"

_No, wait, I--_

"--SLYTHERIN!"

---

Silence settled over the entire mass present in the Great Hall. Had the famous Harry Potter's son--true Gryffindor through and through, savior of the wizarding world, overcomer of the Dark Lord--really been sorted into Slytherin, the house known for producing dark wizards?

For a second, it was quite possible that the boy's heart stopped. Panic swelled in his veins and a strong sense of unreality, like the very fabric of time and space itself had ripped open, swam around him. As he stood, trembling, he felt the ground sway beneath him. Any moment now he would collapse and become catatonic. There was just _no way_ this was happening, his worst fears becoming reality.

He shuffled languidly, lifelessly, over to the table of green and silver, passing the line of the remaining First Years awaiting to be sorted. Only then did he remember that Rose had not been sorted yet. Maybe he wouldn't be alone after all.

"Rose!" he whispered to her as he passed, his eyes wide and fearful. "Ask for Slytherin. Please!" It wasn't a request but a plea.

His cousin frowned tightly and for a moment, Albus was sure she was not going to respond, that she was just going to watch him sit down among his new housemates and then move on to where she would be sorted, certainly into Gryffindor. A few unsorted kids around her were muttering to each other, every few seconds glancing at Albus. In fact, everyone in the Great Hall seemed to be whispering to each other about what had just happened. He shifted in discomfort, ready to leave.

But then she nodded, slowly.

Minutes later, as he sat surrounded by complete strangers, he watched as Rose was sorted into Gryffindor, watched as she sat between James and Fred, her expression tense. It was seeing the three of them sitting together at the gold and crimson table that made Albus feel utterly lost and alone.

---

As he had often lately, he felt the influential whisper of the Dark Arts in the back of his mind. Felt, not heard, for it made itself known by its cold, addictive touch. He stood in the library, facing the direction of those horrible books, the ones that had caused the most important people in his life, the ones he loved with all of his heart, to think twice about him.

_Come on, Albus_ the touch conveyed. _Just one page. It's no big deal, really. You miss me, don't you? Well, don't you?_

He shook his head and turned to leave, deciding to see if Lily was up for tracking down more dead bugs instead. Or if Rose was up for building another snowman. Or if Scorpius wanted any help with his Potions essay. Anything but this.

_Okay, walk away. But you know that you need me. Deep down, you need me. Remember how good I made you feel? Remember the control? The power? You can have that all again. I'll be here waiting. Your friends? They'll all turn their backs on you again. You can forget about Rose. And you can forget about Scorpius, too. They don't know the real you like I do. They don't give a rat's ass about you. They're only interested in being alone together. They don't want you around, didn't you know? But that's okay. You'll find your way back here. You run along and play with your little friends for now and come back and see me whenever you feel like you want to control your life again._

Albus ran along and played with his little friends.


	7. Dear Dad 2

**[A/N:** Another letter from Albus to Harry. Albus was upset that Harry is always up at the Ministry working as Head Auror. The italicized stuff in the brackets is stuff that wasn't in the letter--it's Albus' thoughts at those specific parts. **]**

---

Dear Dad:

I do nothing for you.

Don't fool yourself into believing that anything I do is for you. It's all for my friends and all for me. It's for what's right and for trying to do my part.

I oversee the Patronus meetings because there are people, myself included, who want to learn how to it. It's not to impress you or to make you proud of me. When I learn how to cast a corporeal Patronus and send messages with it, it'll be because _I_ did it and my friends were there to support me.

_[I think of you when I'm trying to get my Patronus to work. You're the brightest mist I've produced, and the dullest.]_

I learned some Dark spells because I thought I could use them for good, especially to help Lukas. I didn't pick up those books to spite you or with anything other than helping others in mind. Twisted logic in retrospect, I know, but I only wanted to show Nott and his dogs that they can't get away with how they treat Lukas and others. My intentions were good, I promise.

_[And so are yours. I thought about what you'd do to help in this situation. You'd have stood up for and protected and fought for this Lukas. I know you would have.]_

Rose and I are organizing a rather impressive-sized protest against Erastas and his duels at the end of the year. It is a word-of-mouth arrangement, but those pledging to go through it and not speak of it around Nott, his dogs, and Erastas have signed a list. I am not doing this to get your attention, but rather to get McGonagall's attention and to persuade her into getting rid of Erastas and his uneducational, violent duels for good. It'll work, too. I know it.

_[You would have done this, wouldn't you? Rallied a bunch of students to draw attention to an unfair, unjust situation. I like to think you would have.]_

I stayed at Scorpius' house over break and got to meet his parents and yes, even his grandpa, who I've decided is senile. I didn't choose to go to his house instead of come home because I knew you wouldn't be comfortable with picking me up for Lily's birthday, but because I wanted to learn more about Scorpius and his family. I think I know him better than ever now, which was necessary since he and I have been shaky this whole year. He's my best friend and I'd do anything for him.

_[But I was afraid to come home. I was afraid of confronting you after what I did at my duel, and after what you said to me.]_

I allowed Fred to be in charge of setting off fireworks on the day of the protest. I know he would have done it anyway, but after some convincing from Rose, I agreed to it. I didn't go along with this because you would probably disapprove, but because Rose told me I should give him another chance. Deep down, I believe this is an asinine idea, but I have to let him do it. Who knows, maybe it'll actually help instead of being counterproductive.

_[I know you probably wouldn't approve of allowing Fred to be destructive, but I'm sure that when you were my age, you would have supported him. Times are different and we're doing this for a different cause, but our hearts are in it the same.]_

All of these things, I have not done for you. I have done them for others and for myself, as you can see. But at the same time it _has_ been all for you, because I _am_ you. I know that when I become the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher some day, I'll be as dedicated to my job and life as you are to yours. It's all we know how to do, isn't it? Idle hands are the devil's playground, as I have learned this year. We always have to be busy in order to be happy, don't we?

We are as similar as we are different. I don't know whether to embrace that knowledge, or reject it.

Albus


	8. The Song of the Phoenix

**[A/N:** And finally, Albus comes to terms with himself! The italic quotes are, in order, between the following people: Al/Amelia Bones [a girl in Slytherin whose whole family are Hufflepuffs], Al/Rose, Al/Amelia again, Al/Rose again, Al/Harry, and then Al/Fred. Can you guess what his Patrnous is? :) **]**

_---_

_"Do you think you belong in Slytherin?"__  
__"I guess I... never really thought about it. I mean, my entire family's been in Hufflepuff, and then I'm not? I suppose I came to embrace it."__  
__"I know what you mean."_

"Okay, Albus, pick out a pair. Whichever ones you want," Harry said, leading the young boy up to the wall of glasses of all shapes, colors, and sizes. He paused before adding, "Within reason, of course."

Albus regarded the wall with awe, his green eyes glittering with youthful fascination. "Dad, look at those!" he exclaimed, pointing excitedly at a particularly strange pair: horned frames adorned in neon green and jet black stripes, complete with inlaid fake twinkling jewels.

Harry smiled, removing them from the shelf and placing them on his son's grinning face while his son giggled. "These the ones you want, then?" He stood back, examining Albus as he crossed his eyes, trying to see where the spectacles sat on his nose. "I don't know, Al, I don't think your mother would like these. You look so... different," he said at last, smiling.

"I do?" the little boy squeaked. He turned to look at himself in the mirror and started laughing all over again. "I look funny!"

He studied himself for a moment longer, still grinning, before taking them off and handing them back to his father to put back up on the shelf for him. "I don't think I want these after all," he said.

Green eyes began scanning the shelves again. Finally, those eyes looked up into identical green eyes. He smiled.

"I want ones like yours, Dad."

_"Remember when we were sorted?"__  
__"Yeah... Why?"__  
__"Remember when I asked you to ask for Slytherin?"__  
__"...Yes. I remember."__  
__"Did you ask? I'm.. just asking. I've always wondered. What did it say to you?"__  
__"Oh. I mean.. I did ask. Honest. It.. The Hat, it knew I was asking because we wanted to be together. It said that was a very Gryffindor quality and put me there. I'm sorry, Al. I really did try."_

"Relax, Al, it was just a joke."

James' nonchalance was met by angry tears swiftly falling from eyes that had darkened a shade or two from their natural, bright green to a sickly, dull color. As the younger Potter fought to hold in his anger, his small fists clenched and shook. He could still feel the wind swaying him back and forth precariously, could still see the ground--seemingly miles below--looking up at him. Fear seeped into his heart once again.

It was the smirk on James' face, that ignorant, insensitive smirk, that caused Albus' emotions to boil over, and he couldn't stop the words before they exploded from his mouth.

"Just a _joke_?!" he snarled, his face contorted with rage. "I'll _never_ be able to play Quidditch because of you! I HATE YOU!"

His brother blinked at him in surprise, perplexed both as to why he was the only one who thought his prank had been funny and how this meant that Albus could never play Quidditch. And good-natured Albus had never lashed out at him--at anyone--like that before.

Of course James couldn't have possibly known the true weight of what he had taken from his younger brother through one of his thoughtless pranks. To him, it was just a joke; to Albus, it meant that his dreams of playing on the Gryffindor Quidditch team as his father once had had been destroyed forever.

_"God, Albus. I'm sorry. I've made things weird again. Maybe I should... I should..."__  
__"No, it's not your fault! Don't go. I'm the one who made things weird. You're right... I'm a Slytherin."__  
__"Well then..."__  
__"It's just.. it's really hard for me, Mia. I always thought I was supposed to be a Gryffindor with the rest of my family."__  
__"I can't really understand what's going on with you, Albus. But you're not the only person. I'm here."_

"Ready for your last present, Al?"

A vigorous nod from his son was all Harry needed as an answer. While he went up the stairs to retrieve Albus' final present for his eleventh birthday, Albus sat and waited, going back through the box of dead pill bugs Lily had given him for his birthday, barely able to contain his excitement.

"How did you find this many, Lily?" he asked.

Lily smiled. "I collected them over the last few months. I found a new one every day I looked."

"Neither of you make any sense at all," James chimed in only to be deftly ignored by both of them and to receive a small look of warning from his mother. The two younger siblings exchanged an affectionate grin. James could never understand their genius.

Harry returned from upstairs with what appeared to be a box of some sort hidden beneath a sheet. That caught Albus' attention. His eyes followed the contraption to where Harry set it down in front of him. Only then did he realize that he could hear scuffling noises coming from inside, and in that moment he knew what he would find beyond the sheet draped around what was surely a cage...

"You got me an owl?" the boy asked in surprise. His eyes shone as he peeled back the sheet to confirm this. For a moment he didn't know what to say; he just let the owl out of its cage and beckoned it forward. Albus looked up at his father with curiosity reflecting on his expression. "Dad, how did you--?"

Harry cut him off by putting a finger up to his lips and winking. Without a single word between them, both understood what the other meant.

"Owls are for nerds," muttered James again. He was once again ignored by his brother, who was too busy stroking his new friend's soft feathers.

The owl's feathers were beautiful, flawless white with patterns of black mixed in. A Snowy Owl. Just as Albus had always wanted.

_"I could've tried harder or something. I really did want to be with you."__  
__"I know. It's really okay, though. I just wanted to let you know that I don't hold it against you. I did at first, but.. I'm past that now."__  
__"I'm really glad you're not still upset with me. About anything."__  
__"Can't stay mad forever, can I?"_

"Willow and phoenix feather. Twelve inches. Nice and rigid. Go on and give it a wave," said Ollivander, eyeing the miniature carbon copy of the famous Harry Potter, who was also eyeing the same boy.

Before he did as he was told, however, Albus cast a grin up at his father. Phoenix feather. This had to be the one. He could feel it.

Then Albus gave the wand--which, in his hand, felt somewhat heavy despite the lightness of the feather at its core--a quick flick. A shower of dazzling silver and green sparks slipped from the end of the wand, spiraling around in the air before fizzling out.

"I see we have a winner!" Ollivander exclaimed.

Harry clapped his son on the back, a look of pride on his face. Despite Ollivander's and Harry's excitement, Albus felt his own fading. He didn't like the silver and green sparks his wand had produced. Hopefully it wasn't a sign. He forced aside his apprehension for the time being.

"Phoenix feather. Just like yours, Dad."

_"I felt like something was wrong with me. But I think... if I had been sorted into Gryffindor, I wouldn't have had any room to grow, and the Hat knew that. Do you think so?__  
__"Yes. I do think so. That's a really mature thought."__  
__"And I think, somewhere deep down, I must have known that, too."__  
__"Yes. You do."_

He had never wanted anything more than he had wanted to be in Gryffindor. It was simple. Nearly everything he had ever done had been because of his father. A lot of things he still did were because of his father. His father had been a Gryffindor, therefore Albus wanted to be a Gryffindor, too.

When they arrived on the platform, though, everything suddenly seemed so uncertain. James' teasing hadn't exactly helped either. He had needed that comfort from his father, the promise that he wouldn't be set apart from the rest of his family, set apart from him. After having received that comfort, Albus' feelings of uncertainty had been assuaged only moderately. As he sat on the Hogwarts Express with Rose, he had plenty of time to think about what he would say to the Sorting Hat to persuade it into sorting him into Gryffindor.

But why had he had to persuade it anyway? Albus had never stopped to think about that before. Surely if he had been meant for Gryffindor, he wouldn't have felt the need to convince the Hat to put him in Gryffindor in the first place. Perhaps somewhere in his gut, deep down in his heart, he had already come to understand that he couldn't be a Gryffindor. Besides, what was it that the Hat had told him?

"Your father would have done well in Slytherin, too."

Yes. He would have, just as he had done well in Gryffindor and just as Albus knew he had done well in Slytherin. Maybe... Maybe they weren't so different after all. Maybe they were still the same, still close, just as two sides of the same coin are still close and the same.

With that thought, Albus once again summoned his patronus. Instead of mist or a glow or even the huge blob of light he had gotten before, silver flames errupted from the end of his wand, billowing out in an endless stream and then circling once around his room. Albus only had a few moments to stand awed, staring at the huge bird and its fiery plumage as it was finally set free, before it faded away. He felt a huge grin split his face in two and didn't realize until he stopped laughing that he had been crying.

It was beautiful. Just as it had always been. Just as it would always be.

_"There's nothing wrong with making a name for yourself, especially when so many others share your name."__  
__"You think that? Really?"__  
__"Really."_


	9. Dear Scorpius

_Scorpius:_

_I'm writing this to you because whenever I try to convey how I feel to someone, I always become embarrassingly inarticulate and I can never clearly communicate my ideas. I can compose an essay and give a speech to the school board and persuade just about anybody academically, but when it comes to verbally explaining myself... I find that I am at a loss. I want you to know that everything in this letter is nothing less than the truth, even if it's harsh. You deserve the truth. So, here I go._

_For a long time, all I had was you. When the Sorting Hat separated me from Rose, James, Fred.. hell, my _entire family_.. I felt lost and alone. And frightened. I remember going to my new common room that night, shaking in my shoes every step of the way, knowing that nothing and nobody familiar would be waiting for me there. Everything about the dungeons terrified me, but nothing more than being alone did. _

_How could I have possibly handled being in Slytherin by myself? Despite the choice I made, I don't honestly believe that I could have handled it alone. Nobody would have understood me, not even Rose--she had become a Gryffindor, something I had always wanted to be, so how could she have possibly understood how I felt or how to make me feel better? She wasn't there for me when I needed her the most. Regardless of it being her fault or not, she simply wasn't there._

_I guess it's my fault, really. I drove her away by making the choice to separate myself from my family. I made a Slytherin's decision to sacrifice everything else to ensure that I would get what I wanted: Power. When I began studying the Dark Arts, doing it so that I could avenge Lukas wasn't only one reason why. The other reason was for myself. I don't expect you to understand, but the Dark Arts gave me confidence and what I desired most: Power. I sacrificed everything to get what I wanted. In the end, I drove everyone away. I had the power that I wanted, but I was alone again._

_This seems to be a recurring theme in my life, which is one of the reasons I've come to realize that I am right where I belong. I've done it again, haven't I? Except this time I drove _you _away. You took that power from me, even if you didn't mean to. There's nothing I hate more than feeling helpless and like I have to rely on someone else, or to be offered charity or sympathy. Everything in my life has taught me that the only person you can truly trust is yourself and that nothing comes to you without strings attached. James saw to that._

_I don't want your charity or sympathy. What I want now more than anything, more than power, is for us to go back to the way we were when we first became friends, before you and Rose could even remotely stand each other. I felt more powerful then, even as I felt weak. You were the light in the darkness and the one thing that kept me going while I was still unsure of myself. You, like me, didn't belong, except I _did_ belong. The bottom line is that you were _mine_; not James', not Fred's, not my dad's, not _Rose's_, but _MINE_. And I needed your strength, just like I need Lily's. I'm scared to death of losing you and I hate knowing that I rely on you this much._

_Now, I just feel helpless. You aren't here anymore, and I'm the one who pushed you away, just like I pushed Rose away. Remember how I said that I couldn't have handled being in Slytherin alone? I meant it. But I didn't have to, did I? Rose may not have been there for me, but you were. Without you, I would still be scared and lost and alone. I might not have ever found myself. Without you, I don't think I could have become as powerful as I am today. Is that why I blame you for getting Head Boy over me?_

_You know what I would have done if our situations had been reversed? If it had been you who had worked hard for the Head Boy badge, and I was the one who had gotten it instead, do you know what I would have done? I would have kept it for myself. I would have worn it proudly and done the best I could with it because I know that no matter what, I can do good with it, too. I'll show you that you made the right choice by making the wrong one, Scorpius. You should have kept it for yourself, but I won't nullify your sacrifice._

_All of this has made me aware of how much I have used and relied on you to get that power that I've always wanted. I never meant to do this to you. I think that's why I'm so angry, and why I took my temper out on you. Because you're too good to realize that your best friend hasn't been a very good friend after all. Knowing this makes me realize that you shouldn't allow me to be your friend anymore. I am afraid of losing you, but not more than I am afraid of hurting you and using you as I have. So maybe it's best that things are this way._

_I hope you don't think any less of me after reading all of this. I know that I would if I were you, but I want you to know that no matter what, I'll always be your friend and you'll always be the best friend that I've ever had._

_I'm sorry._

_Albus_


	10. Seven

_"The sin of pride may be a small or a great thing in someone's life, and hurt vanity a passing pinprick, or a self-destroying or ever-murderous obsession."_

Albus had always felt a force inside of him ceaselessly driving him forward. To him, it felt like a nagging sensation deep in his heart, one which could not be ignored. If he tried to ignore it, the nagging would just become more intense. He always had to strive for something, always had to stand up and make his stance known, always had to prove something to someone, especially to himself. The instinct to compete was what compelled him to do much of what he had done in his life, good and bad.

_"The flesh endures the storms of the present alone; the mind, those of the past and future as well as the present. Gluttony is a lust of the mind."_

In his youth, that drive had been there merely to show his brother that he was just as brave and adventurous as his brother was, that he was more than just a crybaby who was afraid of climbing trees. If James could do it, Albus could do it twice as well.

It was what had compelled him to take on James' dare that day, to climb that tree and fetch the paper dragon that had been pushed into the tree's branches by the wind, despite how everything inside of him had been screaming at him to just walk away. He had beaten James' expectations--he and James had both known it--and as a result, his victory over James had been short-lived as his brother smirked up at him and then walked away, leaving him to cling to the rough branches and cry until his mother appeared to get him down.

Never again would he trust James, but the urge to beat him at whatever he could would always remain.

_"He who is greedy is always in want."_

As he got older, that drive had become more about showing the world that he was more than just Harry Potter's son, that he was his own person no matter how much he resembled his father in looks and spirit. It became something far more important to him. He was determined to give himself a purpose, to separate himself from not only his father but his entire family and everyone's expectations.

It was the reason he had listened to the Sorting Hat that day, because he knew that he could never stand out if he just followed in his predecessor's footsteps. It had dared him to take a chance and be himself, just as James had dared him to climb that tree, and Albus had trusted it. Although he had regretted--even denied--this decision for a long time, he had at last come to understand the meaning behind it all. He finally felt that he had beaten his brother in all aspects, save for the one victory that had been stolen from him years before.

Still, his heart sought to achieve more than that.

_"Envy is the art of counting the other fellow's blessings instead of your own."_

It wasn't until his first year at Hogwarts that he learned the name of this driving force, this nagging sensation inside of him.

Ambition. That was what the Sorting Hat had called it; it had said that he was "ambitious". Ambition alone did not make him a Slytherin, though he had come to associate that driving force within himself with the house into which he had been sorted. He had also learned that Ambition joined with Ruthlessness and Persistency was what a person needed to get any job done. The only thing that matters is working towards something, always building onto yourself, because without a destination, a journey is pointless. And the path towards something is often littered with obstacles which must be overcome.

There was always more to be gained through Ambition.

_"Men often make up in wrath what they want in reason." _

It had since been a comfort to him, to know that no matter what, he always had something that needed to be done. That was what kept him going. Even if no one believed in him or agreed with him, at least he had something to strive towards. If he made any mistakes, going back and fixing or at least making up for them became his new goal. Just as his father always had to work for one reason or another, so did Albus. Sloth was simply not in his vocabulary. Working towards something was what he had been built on. It was all he knew.

Such a focus was it of his that he often overlooked what he lacked.

_"So fixed are our spirits in slothfulness and cold indifference that we seldom overcome so much as one evil habit."_

One thing Albus did not know was that Ambition had many dangerous counterparts. They came by many different names and vices, but in the end, they were all part of the same thing.

There were, in fact, seven of them.

_"Ambition is a lust that is never quenched, but grows more inflamed and madder by enjoyment."_

**[A/N**: I forget who all the quotes are from, but they are not mine. .o**]**


End file.
